A Bat Christmas Carol
by AJRedRobin
Summary: A/N: I am taking a break from writing to bring you this unique telling of an annual classic. AU story: Bruce Wayne is a bitter man, hating the world for the death of his wife and parents. Can his old friend and business partner Lucius Fox change his heart? In this story, Jason is the oldest, followed by Damian, then Dick, and Tim.
1. A Bitter Man

**_A/N: I am taking a break from writing to bring you this unique telling of an annual classic._**

**_AU story:_******_**Bruce Wayne is a bitter man, hating the world for the death of his wife and parents. Can his old friend and business partner Lucius Fox change his heart? In this story, Jason is the oldest, followed by Damian, then Dick, and Tim.**_

A Bat Christmas Carol

With Great Respect For Charles Dickens

By

Part 1: A Bitter Man

Bruce Wayne was a bitter man since the death of his parents and wife, Talia. Business is all he had and knows. His CEO Lucius Fox, died some years ago, leaving Bruce solely in charge. The Wayne Enterprise business thrived while other businesses floundered after the Earthquake that hit Gotham City, leaving much of the city in ruins. Over the years, Mr. Wayne reduced his staff until he and his only clerk Richard Grayson remained. Without the need of a large staff, Mr. Wayne moved his business from the crumbling Wayne Tower to a much smaller office in Park Row. His clerk was happy for his situation and never complained, but sometimes even an office with a single lamp and a candle or two between them made it difficult to see, let alone keep warm.

Dick Grayson looked over at the wood stove then looked over at the dwindling supplies of firewood and coal. He wanted to put another log on the fire, but it was nearing quitting time, and he knew what his employer would say.

"Don't waste the wood, Grayson," Dick said in his mind, imitating Mr. Wayne's voice exactly. "It's nearly quitting time. Let the fire die until tomorrow." But, tomorrow is Christmas and as the hours slipped by, and the office got colder and colder, Dick was getting more nervous about asking Mr. Wayne for the time off. He was still thinking about it, when he heard Mr. Wayne's booming voice.

"No time for daydreaming, Grayson," Mr. Wayne said. "We need to get the rest of these accounts taken care of."

"Yes, Mr. Wayne," And Dick went back to work scribbling in his account book and preparing letters.

As It was Christmas Eve, just before six, a familiar young man entered what remained of Wayne Enterprise. He did this every year for the past five years, hoping that things would change.

"Evening, Father," Damian stated.

"Humph," Bruce groused. "Don't call me that during business hours."

"Ah come on, Father," Damian commented. "Don't be grumpy."

"Can't you tell time? Perhaps you should carry a pocket watch."

"Father, it's almost closing hours, besides, I came to ask you to come dine with my wife and I, tomorrow."

"Why in the world did you get married?" Bruce asked. "You should be learning to run the business."

"Because I fell in love with the lady, and you know how much I love being an artist."

"A starving artist," Bruce said under his breath. "No, I will be busy tomorrow."

"Father, it's Christmas. All the businesses will be closed. You won't have anyone to do business with."

"Then it will be a perfect time to get caught up," Bruce countered. "Grayson! Take these and begin the collection process!"

"Yes, Mr. Wayne," Dick Grayson stated. Dick Grayson went over to Mr. Wayne's desk and grabbed the sheets of paper. There was a stack of 20 this time.

"Father, tomorrow is Christmas," Damian stated.

"Bah, humbug, just another day on the calendar."

"You can't mean that."

"I do, Sir," Bruce glared at the young man. "What is it to you, you're poor enough."

"And you're rich enough," Damian countered. "Come on. Father, you can take one day out of the year to celebrate. Mother would have wanted you to."

"Do not speak of your mother. What right have you to celebrate? You keep Christmas in your way, and let me keep it in mine."

"But you don't keep it," Damian argued.

"Good afternoon!" Bruce said, trying to dismiss his son.

Damian shook his head, seeing that his father wasn't going to change his mind. He tried to do this every year. Even when his mother, Talia tried to tell him that his father had chosen money over them, Damian wouldn't believe her.

"There has to be some good in him," Damian had told her before she died. Afterward, Damian was sent to his grandfather to live, until he died as well. Without his grandfather's help, young Damian would have faded out of obscurity. He almost had.

Bruce Wayne forgot about his son, leaving him to fend for himself in the world. The young man never became bitter, believing that his father would someday see the truth, and acknowledge him, not to mention acknowledging his eldest, who seem to have been forgotten all together.

"Merry Christmas, Father, and to you Mr. Grayson and your family."

"Merry Christmas," Dick Grayson replied.

"Be careful Mr. Grayson," Bruce Wayne stated. "Mention Christmas one more time and you will be celebrating Christmas on the unemployment line."

"Yes, Mr. Wayne," Dick stated quietly and he went back to his work.

As Damian left his father's office, two women entered.

"Excuse me, Sir, would you be Mr. Fox or Mr. Wayne," one of the women asked.

"Mr. Fox has been dead for several years. He died this very night. Get on with your business," Bruce groused. "Are you hear to pay your account?"

"Actually, we represent the poor," the other woman stated.

"Are you lawyers? I am within my rights."

"No, actually. We are trying to collect money so we can provide dinner and warmth for the poor and homeless. And a means so they can protect themselves from those who would harm them. What should we put you down for?"

"Nothing," Bruce stated.

"You wish to remain anonymous?"

"I wish to be left alone," Bruce replied. "Leave now, before I call security."

"Um, Mr. Wayne, you dismissed the security last year," Dick Grayson said.

"Ah, yes, I had forgotten. They were getting expensive."

"Sir, it's Christmas, many are in need."

"They have nothing to do with me, and I have nothing to do with them."

"Many could die without food or comfort."

"Well, let them. That would reduce the population, wouldn't it. More resources for the rest of us. Good evening, ladies."

The two women left with shocked looks on their faces. When six o'clock finally struck, Dick Grayson cleaned up his desk and placed his pens away. He started to turn off the lamp then realized Mr. Wayne was still writing. He approached Mr. Wayne and cleared his throat.

"Sir, if you don't mind, may I have my wages early?"

"Early?"

"Tomorrow is Christmas . . . ."

"I know that," Bruce growled.

"Every business will be closed, and it is only once a year," Dick stated.

"I take it you will want the whole day?" Bruce opened the safe and started counting out some bills.

"If it's convenient," Dick said meekly.

"It's not convenient, paying a day's wage for no work," Mr. Wayne pursed his lips and saw that Grayson wasn't budging. "Very well, take the day," Bruce handed Dick Grayson his wages for that day as well as for the next. "But be here early the day after."

'Yes, Sir, thank you," Dick placed the bills in his pocket, grabbed his coat and scarf and headed out the door.

Continues with Part 2


	2. The Grayson Family

A Bat Christmas Carol

With Great Respect For Charles Dickens

By

Part 2: The Grayson Family

Dick raced home to the poorer areas of Gotham. He entered his house and hugged his wife. His eldest son and daughter came into the house with a younger teen with a crutch, his left leg in a splint, and he was coughing.

"Dick!" Tim exclaimed. "You're home."

"Hello, little brother," Dick stated. "Where have you three been?"

"We went caroling," Dick's son, Gaven stated. "Everyone stopped when Tim started singing in Romani. They even gave us some money."

"We can help with Christmas," Dick's daughter Haley said.

"Well, I'm glad you're home," Solona stated. "I'm trying to finish some special things for our Christmas dinner tomorrow. Can you go to the Market? I hope I have enough flour."

"Don't worry Lona, tomorrow we will have a feast."

"A feast? How? You don't get paid yet. And tomorrow is Christmas."

"Mr. Wayne paid me early," Dick said. "And I need someone to help me buy our Christmas dinner!"

"Can I come with you?" Tim asked.

"Are you sure, you're up to it?" Dick asked his little brother after hearing him cough.

"Of course," Tim smiled.

"All right."

"Not until you are bundled up," Solona said. "You need some dry mittens."

"He can borrow mine," Gaven stated, handing Tim his mittens from his pocket.

"Why didn't you wear yours," his mother asked.

"I had to collect the money."

"Let's put that money in a jar," Solona stated. "We'll save it for later."

Everyone knew except Tim that every penny that was left over after expenses was being saved so they could be able to get the needed medicine and the operation that Tim needed, so he could get better. The Clinic was free, but the medicine and the surgery wasn't. Even so, his small family was determined to celebrate Christmas despite their woes.

Solona bundled Tim up in a scarf and changed out his mittens. She handed him his crutch just in case he wanted to walk. After Dick had warmed himself up by an old wood stove, he picked up Tim and placed him on one shoulder.

"I'm getting a little too big for you to carry me."

"You aren't heavy, you're my brother, and this way your other leg won't get tired. Let's go to the Christmas Market and see what we can get for our dinner."

"I'm with you on that one."

Dick Grayson exited their small home and headed down the street. The Christmas outdoor market had been set up just three streets over from where they lived. There were stalls set up with various goods, sweets of all kinds, and special breads that were only baked during this time of year. They stopped and paid for a few items that Solona needed regardless whether it was Christmas, potatoes, carrots, and flour. All went into the basket, along with a bag of oats for breakfast. Honey and sugar were all rare commodities. They did not lack for that since Dick Grayson put a beehive in the small flower garden that Solona had in the back of the house. During the summer and fall, what surplus honey they had, they would sell. Dick moved down the stalls until he reached the man selling poultry.

"What can I do for you. Sir?" the man asked Dick as he stood in front of the stall. "Can I interest you in our prized turkey. It is our last one."

"That's probably beyond our price," Dick said.

"Can I interest you in a goose or large chicken?"

"How about a goose," Tim stated. "This is a special time."

The man wrapped the goose and Dick paid for it with their dwindling funds. Dick went to two more booths, paying for three packages that were wrapped in brown paper, each labeled for a boy or a girl. The man placed a special package in Dick's pocket that he had been saving. It was for his wife. Then Dick and Tim headed home with their packages. Out of the corner of his eye, Dick spotted Mr. Wayne walking through the stalls. He stopped to purchase some hot soup in a portable container. Dick breathed in a wistful sigh.

"I hope Mr. Wayne has a nice Christmas," Tim stated.

"You saw him, too? Your eyes are sharp. I hope so, too, Tim," Dick replied, but he knew Mr. Wayne may not. "Nothing seems to dampen your spirits."

"The snow might," Tim said. "But I'd like to think that it's pretty seeing everything covered in white."

"You have a good heart, Tim. Let's take everything back for Solona. Tomorrow is Christmas, and we have a celebration to make."

Dick felt the remaining cash in his pocket. 'Not enough,' he thought. 'But we'll add it to the jar anyway.'

It never seemed to be enough. He had to keep hopes just like Tim.

Continues with Part 3


	3. Sly Fox

A Bat Christmas Carol

With Great Respect For Charles Dickens

By

Part 3: Sly Fox

After Mr. Wayne locked up the office and bought some soup in the Christmas Market, he headed for home. He passed what remained of the old Wayne Enterprise building. With the economy and the earthquake that hit the city, there was no need for so many workers. No one wanted to rebuild, and then the aftershocks came destroying more neighborhoods, leaving pockets of isolated areas. Gotham became a no man's land. Not only that, the Wayne ancestral home became a ruin, and there was no home to go back to. So, Mr. Wayne moved back to the city, living with his business partner, Mr. Fox, until his untimely death.

Mr. Wayne walked the streets of the city, heading to his only place of refuge. No one got in his way. There was a deep dark air about him that sent everyone scurrying back into the shadows. And when he passed, everyone breathed a little easier. Even so, that did not stop those who were all too willing to take advantage of the rest. Even So, Mr. Wayne ignored it all, believing it had nothing to do with him.

Mr. Wayne approached an old glass building. It had been a jewel in the city once. Now it was shabby and run down. Many of its panes were broken As he approached the glass doors, his reflection appeared, but then a queer thing happened. The reflection changed before his eyes. A shudder came over Bruce when he thought he saw two piercing eyes in the dark, and he thought he heard the sound of flapping, leathery wings. It was something from his childhood, a nightmare or memory he could not escape. Then a familiar voice moaned his name.

"Bruuuuce."

Mr. Wayne stared at the reflection in the glass as it suddenly morphed and he saw his old partner's face. Behind him appeared two figures he had not seen since his childhood. To say that Mr. Wayne was startled would be an understatement. His face was as pale as the new fallen snow. Mr. Wayne reached out to touch the face and reached for the other two, but they vanished as if they had never been. He was once again facing his own reflection.

"Bah . . . Humbug," Bruce said, out loud, then regretted it. Someone passing by might think he was crazy. He quickly walked past the building and down the street to a walled in house that had seen better days. This was the home of his partner, now long gone. He was greeted by no one, his butler he had dismissed years before. Mr. Wayne entered and closed the door, shutting out the world behind him.

It turned out his butler led a secret life, trained by MI6, as well as having been trained as a battle surgeon, but what use did Bruce have for those skills. There wasn't much that Bruce knew of his old butler, Alfred Pennyworth. The old butler tried to be a father to Bruce, but all Bruce was interested in was guarding his heart from knowing love ever, again. Bruce never knew what happened to him, and no longer cared.

Bruce heated the soup on the kitchen stove. He sat down in front of the fire to eat his meager meal. Once again, the sound of leathery wings and squeaking came to his ears. The sound grew louder and the sound of beating wings grew as well, becoming a maelstrom. Then hundreds of bats flew from the fireplace, surrounding Bruce.

"No! Get away! Get away!"

Bruce flailed frantically, trying to shew the blizzard of bats away. He shut his eyes as tightly as he could. When he opened them, the man he saw reflected in the glass was standing before him, but what was stranger still was that Bruce could see right through him.

"Who are you?" How did you get in here?"

"Before I died, I was your partner, Lucius Fox."

"Impossible, you can't be," Bruce said, wary of the strange apparition in front of him.

"You doubt your senses?"

"Yes, I do. You could be caused by some hallucination from something that had been placed in my soup, the wrong kind of mushroom for instance."

"Ahhhh!" The figure rose in the air among a small tornado of bats. He rattled his chains and banged two cash boxes together, creating a hollow noise that echoed throughout Mr. Wayne's living area.

"Ah, no, please stop!" Bruce's senses were overwhelmed with fear. How could this being be real and yet the figure floated in the air in front of his very eyes.

"Do you believe in me or not!"

"I do, I do," Bruce found himself answering, just to appease the apparition. The voice was becoming more familiar to him every second he heard it. "Why have you come to me? Why now? What is that chain you are wearing, and why do bats follow you around?"

"The bats are a reminder of what I did not do."

"I do not understand, why are you here?" Bruce asked.

"I've come to warn you, and to help prevent the fate that awaits you."

"Warn me?"

"Yes, because you did not choose to become what you were supposed to," Lucius answered. "All those lives you could have saved, are now doomed to walk the earth, lamenting their loss, no longer to help. And a young man struggles to save his family from the poverty of life, a young man you could have saved."

"What does that have to do with me?" Bruce argued,

"You shall soon learn," Lucius Fox stated as his chains rattled.

Bruce's eyes narrowed as his eyes focused on the long chain the familiar apparition wore. "Lucius, what is that chain you are wearing?"

"It is the chain I forged in life."

"I have never seen you wearing such a chain," Bruce stated. It seemed inconceivable that such a thing could exist.

"That is because the chain cannot be seen by the living, but it can be felt by the bearer of that chain, weighed down by my acts of greed and indifference."

"What do you mean?"

"I paid attention to only what was in front of me, not what was beyond our board room doors."

"You were a good man of business."

"Our business should have been about our fellow man's needs, not about how we could take advantage of the situation," Lucius Fox lectured. "You have a small chance to correct that before it is too late."

"TT," Bruce made a noise with his tongue.

"Do not scoff," Lucius growled. "You will be visited by three spirits."

"I would rather not."

"This is your only chance. The first spirit will appear at One."

"Can't I have them all at once?"

"The second on the next night at two, and the third on the night after at three. Beware, Bruce, beware."

Lucius wrapped Bruce with his chains pulling him toward the window. The window shattered and hundreds of bats and the spirits of the dead surrounded Bruce, causing him a great fright.

"See these spirits, they are the ones you could helped, could have saved! My time is done."

Bruce covered his eyes and cringed on the floor. Just as quickly as the apparition, the spirits, and the bats had been there, they were suddenly gone. Bruce got off the floor and looked around. The window was whole once more. He got up and checked the door and the fireplace.

"Bah! HUMBUG!"

Continues with Part 4


	4. Into the Past

A Bat Christmas Carol

With Great Respect For Charles Dickens

By

Part 4: Into the Past

Bruce Wayne got ready for bed. He climbed into his king-sized bed and looked at the clock. It said eight pm. The appearance of Lucius and what he had said disturbed him greatly. Even so, he continued to dismiss it as a hoax, a practical joke that someone must be playing, though a part of him denied it just the same. Bruce was about to snuggle under the covers when he heard the clock strike the quarter hour, then half past, then the three quarter hour. Bruce was alarmed it was as if time had sped up for no apparent reason. Then the hour struck. One o'clock?

A sudden warm light poured into the room. Though that description wasn't an accurate one. It was as if a point of light appeared then grew out from there. A figure appeared out of the light. It was hard to tell if the person was man or woman, boy or girl. The figure approached.

"Bruce Wayne, I have come."

"Who . . . Who are you?"

"I am the ghost of Christmas Past."

"Who's past?"

"Your past," the Spirit said. "Come, walk with me."

"Where are we going? It is the middle of the night."

"Touch my robe and all shall be revealed."

Bruce did as the spirit said and they moved like a shadow through the ages. The years moved backwards. Bruce watched as time regressed and he was once again looking at a familiar figure, a boy of seven years of age, sitting alone at a desk. He was reading.

"Do you know this place?"

"I do," Bruce said, choking on the words. "It is my Uncle's place."

Bruce watched as his uncle came in and tore the book from Bruce's hands.

"This is all nonsense! You're father's dead along with my sister. Now get your things packed. The bus to the school is waiting."

The scene changed and the boy was alone in a school.

"Your Uncle sent you away?"

"He thought being among children my age would help ease the pain of my loss."

To the spirit it did not seem to him that Bruce Wayne's uncle understood the boy, but the spirit wasn't there to add his opinion. He was there to help Bruce see the meaning of Christmas. "And did it?"

"They didn't understand."

"Let us look at another Christmas," said the spirit as he waved an arm. The boy grew in stature and age. Again, he was seen alone at the school until a girl came running in.

"Cousin Bruce!"

"Kate? What are you doing here?"

"I have news. My father has given up custody."

"Given up custody?" Bruce was confused. "What do you mean, Kate?"

"I'm taking you back to Alfred," Kate stated.

"Alfred, but Uncle George dismissed him," young Bruce stated.

"My father lied about the will. Uncle Thomas named Alfred your guardian. My father only wanted control of your vast fortune. It took a couple years, but Alfred was able to find evidence that my father was stealing from your fortune."

"What about you?" young Bruce asked.

"I'm going to live with my mother's family. Right now, we're having Christmas with Alfred. Grab your things. You won't be coming back to this place."

Bruce hugged his cousin. He hurried to pack his bags and they left the school soon after. The spirit waved his arms and the scene changed. Bruce was a young man, learning all about the business that his father left him.

"This is great Alfred," Bruce said. "Now, if we invest here, we can tripled, maybe even quadruple our funds."

"That is an excellent idea, Master Bruce," Alfred stated. "Then we can use the funds to set up a foundation in your parents' names."

"Why would I want to do that?

"To remember them, to find the man responsible . . ."

"That man's probably been caught by now. Put their portrait away. I don't want to see it, I don't want to even be reminded of what happened. In fact, let's seal this room. It's too gloomy. And call someone to find the entrance to that old cave and have it sealed. I don't want to have another accident like I did when I was a boy."

"Very well, Master Bruce."

"And call me, Mr. Wayne. I am after all, master of Wayne Manor."

"You stupid, kid," Bruce said to the young man. "They never caught the guy. You could have done something."

As they left the room, and closed the door, a bat crashed through the glass, and fell on the floor, broken and bleeding. Bruce shuttered when he saw the bat as the image faded and the spirit showed him a Christmas that would be his happiest and saddest moment.

Ra's Al Ghul came into the room, his head held high like a king and a young woman was at his side.

"My daughter," the man introduced her. "Talia"

She was a beautiful woman. Ra's Al Ghul pushed her forward. She appeared to be shy. Other suiters came forward, but she rebuked them. Young Bruce came forward and she nodded and took his hand. They began dancing. Young Bruce only had eyes for her. Little did he know that things would change for them.

Bruce watched as his young self was lured into a private room. A guard stood outside the door as it was closed tight from prying eyes. Bruce turned away to give the couple privacy. His heart began to ache.

"I should have . . ."

"What did you say?" the spirit questioned.

"Nothing," Bruce replied.

"Let us see another Christmas moment." The spirit waved his arms.

"Might I recommend you do this instead. Your butler was very kind to run your business for you, but isn't it time, you come in with the big boys? There are other ways to grow the company, increase your bottom line, and still get what you want from the workers."

"I see, and this will save me money," said Bruce.

"Yes, it will, and you can keep your profits."

Another Christmas faded out and a new one faded in.

"You tricked me," Bruce said.

"It was my father, beloved," Talia stated as she rubbed her swollen belly. "You are going to need an heir as well, once he declares you his heir."

"Are you certain he's mine?"

"You were the only one, my beloved."

"I have no time for a child," Bruce stated. "And your father will get nothing from me."

"You said you loved me once. "

"I was young," Bruce said, and he turned his back on the woman.

"You fool!" the older Bruce yelled at his younger self.

"She turned out to be a delicate woman. She had a child."

"My son," Bruce replied.

"She raised him until she died and then his grandfather took over, but the boy only had eyes on you, wanting only to know his father."

"Spirit, take me home!"

The spirit's words hit Bruce hard and yet, his heart had not been softened by what he saw and knew.

"There's one more shadow," the spirit said.

"Please, no more."

The scene changed to a circus, a circus that Bruce had refused to attend years before.

"Remember this?"

"Remember it, Alfred wouldn't let me forget. He insisted I attend. He said the circus would raise money for orphans or something."

"And did you attend?"

"No, it was a waste of time."

"Watch," the spirit demanded.

"Bruce watched the performers, his eyes going wide as he watched a boy tumble through the air, then be caught by his mother. The boy climbed down to the circus floor, and went over to a baby sitting in a stroller. He pointed upward.

"Watch Mommy and Daddy, Timmy," the boy stated.

"What do they have to do with me?" Bruce questioned.

Bruce turned back and watched as the boys watched their parents. There was a scream as the ropes snapped. They watched horrified. The older boy raced out to the center of the ring, despite the ringmaster trying to hold him back. He kneeled in between them. The scene was an eerie reminder of what Bruce had also lost. The look on the boy's face was the same as his. It was so painful, Bruce felt it within his soul.

"I don't want to see any more!"

"Look closely at the boy, does he not look familiar to you?"

"Bruce's eyes went wide. "It can't be . . . "

"Believe me, he is. I must leave you."

"No! Wait!"

The spirit, however was gone and Bruce found himself back in his room. He was left with unanswered questions, questions he would never know the answers to. If only he had gone to the circus, but that never happened, or decided differently, and the life that he could have had didn't happen. He was left feeling exhausted and alone.

Continues with Part 5


	5. Another Presence

A Bat Christmas Carol

With Great Respect For Charles Dickens

By

Part 5: Another Presence

Bruce tried to sleep again, but it was no use. His mind kept returning to the two little boys, now one a young man, and their parents. Both ropes had broken, a clear indication of sabotage. Who would do that? His own parents came to mind. He could have said something, had done something, but he had not attended that night. He didn't do what he should have done all those years ago. Even so, it felt too late in his eyes. There was no way he could accomplish it now.

His thoughts were interrupted when the clock struck the quarter hour, then the half, and then the three quarter and finally the hour, striking two chimes.

Two o'clock, but on what day? It didn't matter. It felt like he had slept an eternity or none at all at the same time.

"Wayne? Are you there?"

A booming voice cried out from the other room.

"Who . . . " Bruce approached his door with caution and slowly opened it. He peered out to a room filled with light, and a larger than life figure stood in the middle of a feast of abundance. The figure grinned.

"Come closer, I won't bite . . . much," the Spirit joked when he spotted the man in the doorway.

Bruce approached, still cautious and not knowing what to expect.

"There you are," The Spirit stated. "My, you could be so much taller if you removed that chip off your shoulders."

"There is no chip," Bruce groused.

"From what I can see, there is a very large chip," the Spirit waved an arm and produced a cup. He then produced a pitcher and poured a liquid into it. "Here, you look parched, drink."

"I don't drink," Bruce replied.

"Drink, it will do you good."

"What is it?"

"Taste it, then I will tell you," the Spirit grinned. "Don't worry, it's not poisoned. If I wanted to poison you I would have asked one of my many brothers who isn't associated with this time of year. He prefers tricks and treats."

"How many brothers do you have?"

"What year is this?"

"2019," Bruce answered dubiously.

"Then I have 2018 brothers."

"Such a large family to take care of. Your bills must be astronomical."

"You have quite a wit, yourself," the Spirit replied. "Now drink."

Bruce took a sip. Then he took another. He could feel something happening within him, a courage he did not have before, and something else, a need that he could not describe. He thought it had been stamped out of him long ago, yet somehow a spark remained. "What is this?"

"It is many things to many people. For some, the milk of human kindness. For others, liquid courage. For you, a bit of both, I think. Drink up."

Bruce took a larger dose of the drink, letting it course through him. "Spirit, I am ready to go with you. Show me what I need to know so I may change."

"Change takes time, but I will show you things that you have missed out on, and perhaps you may learn something you have not learned before. Touch my robe."

Bruce did as the spirit told him, and they were transported to a different part of the city, one familiar and alien at the same time. He had not been to this area of Gotham for many years.

"What is this place?"

"This is the home of your clerk."

"I did not know he lived in such conditions."

"With what you pay him, it is all he can afford." The spirit moved forward and Bruce followed though he was concerned they might be seen.

"We are invisible to the eye," the Spirit replied. "Now look and see."

Bruce's eyes went wide. He recently learned that his clerk had a little brother, but he didn't know that Dick Grayson was married and had children as well.

"Haley, be careful that the potatoes do not burn," Solona stated.

"Yes, Mom,' Haley stated.

"Gaven, start preparing the stuffing."

"Okay."

"I wonder what's keeping your Dad and Timoti."

Just as Solona stated, the question, Dick Grayson walked in carrying his little brother in his arms. They were singing a Christmas Carol in Romani.

"There you two are," Solona stated. "We were beginning to wonder if you two ran off and joined the circus."

"Not me, Lona, that life is behind me," Dick replied. "Here, Timoti, I'll sit you right down by the stove to get warm."

"Thanks, Dick," Tim replied as Dick set him down. He handed Tim his crutch.

"The potatoes are done, Mom."

"Hey Uncle Tim, do you want to help with making Christmas Cookies?" Haley asked.

"Sure," Tim replied. He got up from his seat and grabbed his crutch and followed.

"Spirit, I did not know Grayson had a brother who is ill," Bruce stated. "What is the matter with him."

"Complications from a broken leg that wasn't mended properly."

"Do they have medicine?"

"They cannot afford it, let alone see to the repairing of his leg. There is a healer, but she sees no one. Her price is too high to pay."

Bruce continued to keep his eyes on the crippled teen as well as on the face of his clerk. Now, he could see clearly the boy within the man and the sadness that still lingered. And yet, he had a family that seemed to love him with all of their hearts, and he with his. Questions formed in his mind, the same questions he had when the spirit of Christmas Past showed him the scene at the circus. How had the boys ended up here? Who had taken care of them? What followed next would pain Bruce's heart greatly.

Continues With Part 6


	6. Family Comes in Many Forms

**_AU story:_**_**Bruce Wayne is a bitter man, hating the world for the death of parents and the life he didn't choose. Can his old friend Lucius Fox change his heart?**_

A Bat Christmas Carol

With Great Respect For Charles Dickens

By

Part 6: Family Comes in Many Forms

After the dinner was prepared and the table set, everyone gathered for their meager feast.

"So little food," Bruce whispered, almost afraid he would be heard. Though he was one to talk. He chose to eat meagerly himself.

"But very much appreciated," the Spirit stated.

Bruce should have known that the spirit had heard him. He turned and watched as the small family enjoyed their meal.

"I'd like to make a toast," Dick said.

"I hope it's not to that Mr. Wayne," Solona said.

"Well . . ." Dick hesitated.

"You give a toast every year to Mr. Wayne. He may as well be Scrooge."

"Solona, it's Christmas."

"It has to be Christmas in order for there to be any feeling in that man's heart, but you and I both know that will never happen. You know it."

"I have to believe he'd change, that if he knew, he would understand."

"Well, I'm not as hopeful as you. Instead, we'll make this a toast to you. You have made a life for me, our children, and for your brother."

"Yes, let's not forget discovering that my brother was here brings me even more hope after being separated when we were children. I got my brother back this year from that cruel place, Drake textiles."

"It's all right, Dick. At least the Drakes did give me a place to live, and gave me work before . . ."

"Don't worry about that," Dick said. "We'll make you better soon."

"Everyone, let's toast to Dick for making us a family, and God bless us, everyone."

Bruce could not help staring at the young teen who was small for his age. He is Dick Grayson's brother? Bruce thought about how the first spirit had shown him, that if he had not refused and had had gone to the circus to see a boy of eight fly through the air, now a young man, he would have seen that the boy had a baby brother, now a teen himself.

'They had been separated when they were children? Dick never told me he was getting back a family member. I had to dock Dick a week's pay for missing work that day. I remember him saying he had to be in court. If only I had asked him why.'

The teen boy started coughing up a fit, which concerned everyone.

"Spirit, tell me more about that boy."

"The boy is quite ill, as I said. The future is clouded around him."

"You mean the boy could die?"

"If he were to die, would it matter? That would reduce the population, would it not?"

"You use my words against me," Bruce Wayne groused.

"Words that no man should use against another," the Spirit stated. "Come, there are other places to attend to."

Bruce followed the spirit, but he could not help looking back, seeing the boy and the wistful look on his face. It was as if he knew something his family did not. The boy looked in his direction and their eyes locked, but that's impossible. Bruce was invisible to him.

"Merry Christmas, Mr. Wayne," Tim said under his breath.

Chills ran up Bruce's spine. He quickly left the home and when he did, he was no longer in the place he thought he would be. He wasn't in the street, but in a home a little more upscale than what his clerk was living in, but still not as lavish as his own, that is if it wasn't so dark and tomb-like, he realized. Bruce wondered where the person acquired their money, until he heard the sound of his son's voice and someone else he had not acknowledged. He rather not remember that time. It was a time before Talia, a time he had been wild and carefree, until he was reminded that he had other responsibilities, and a young woman of the streets would not have made a good match for a wealthy socialite. Bruce watched as his son was enjoying a bowl of punch and a dinner among friends

"He said that . . . That Christmas was humbug?" Jason asked.

"Yes, he did," Damian replied.

"Sheesh, he's become such a Scrooge." Sasha said.

"Oh, I don't know," Damian commented. "Mother said he used to be very kind. Of course he changed after she died, and sent me off to live with my grandfather until he died. I don't think he wanted to be reminded of her."

"You're not the only one he didn't acknowledge," Jason said. "I'm his little secret. And you keep asking him for dinner every year. Why?"

'His little secret?' Bruce questioned. 'Oh yes, I had forgotten Then I have two sons.'

"Because I know there's some good in him still."

"Well. He's never shown any of that to me," Sasha said. "I've passed him on the street and he's never once offered to say good morning."

"If things were different my father would be a far different man," Damian stated. "Every year I ask him to dinner and wish him a Merry Christmas in hope that he will remember what things were like before my mother's death."

"I would hope for the same thing, but he doesn't even know I even exist," Jason said.

Bruce was listening to the exchange. He had to admit to himself that his life had changed. Damian was a reminder of his beloved, which was what tore at him every day. And Jason, an indiscretion from too much wine when he was a young man, before he met Talia. "if only . . . "

"If only what?" The Spirit questioned.

"Nothing," Bruce said instead.

A young lady with red hair came into the room. "Dinner is ready everyone."

"Thank you, Iris," Damian said.

"You know, I wish you'd have a turkey once in a while," Colin stated.

"You know I'm a vegetarian," Damian answered. "This is the only time of year I offer some kind of meat. It's customary after all, but I got a small one just for you."

"Thanks."

"Are we going to play games later?"

"Of course, and you can pretend to be the bat, and chase everyone in the room."

"What is this fascination you have for bats?" Jason asked. "I see them in your paintings."

"My mother told me a story about my father once, when he was a boy."

"Where did she learn it?"

"From my father, of course."

"Such a terrifying image," Sasha commented.

"Oh, I don't know," Damian stated. "I think it would be cool. Just imagine becoming a man of bats, frightening all the criminals in the world."

"Criminals, why criminals?"

"Why not? This city needs someone like that. Ever since the Earthquake, this city has been divided into pockets of territories. You don't dare walk in certain areas. It's scary. We're lucky that this area is walled off from the rest, but down where my father's clerk lives, it's only a matter of time before that area gets hit."

"You're not thinking about going out in that costume your grandfather wore?"

"Why not, Iris? I read my grandfather Thomas' journal, how he stopped a mob boss and his gang from robbing the costume ball they attended. The theme was things that fly. He even won first place for his costume as a bat. Everyone else was dressed up as some bird. One guy even dressed up as an airplane. Bats also fly."

"It's far too dangerous. Let's not talk about that," Iris said. "I made a nice dinner and I want people to enjoy it."

The Spirit and Bruce Wayne left the home of his sons, and headed into Gotham City. Bruce kept thinking about what Damian had said. He had forgotten about that costume. He didn't even know that his father had fought a group of criminals. Bruce had been five years old. That was before he even fell into that old well. His father did look cool dressed up like a bat. He even remembered the conversation that he and his father had that night before his parents had gone to the ball.

"_Can I dress up like you?"_

"_How about I save the costume for you, and you can wear it when you're older," Thomas Wayne said._

But that day never happened, and Bruce was left behind to fend for himself as it were, and his vow to bring justice for the murder of his parents had been forgotten over time. A deep sadness had entered Bruce's heart. Was it too late? If only things had changed. He had let his own bitterness take over. Bruce Wayne would never forget sojourning into the night. It would be more than just an eye opening experience.

Continues with Part 7

_**A/N: I will post the next two parts on Christmas Eve, then post the conclusion on Christmas Day. Enjoy!**_


	7. A City Without Hope

**_AU story:_**_**Bruce Wayne is a bitter man, hating the world for the death of parents and the life he didn't choose. Can his old friend Lucius Fox change his heart?**_

A Bat Christmas Carol

With Great Respect For Charles Dickens

By

Part 7: A City Without Hope

The city was as dismal as any place could get with the exception of the Christmas Market, where Wayne Enterprise was located, along with the homes of Damian and Bruce Wayne. The Graysons, along with many others, living on the edges, crowded along an invisible wall that some would dare not to cross. On this night, the holiest of nights, some forsook thier ways and came among those who welcomed them back into their loving arms. There were pockets of joy and people doing their best to celebrate, but where there was celebration, there was an equal amount of darkness where evil intentions thrived. It was in these areas that the Spirit took out a cup similar to the one that Bruce drank from, and in those areas, the Spirit sprinkled what looked like water. The water reshaped itself into some birds as well as a large bat. They flew into the darkness, exposing the crime, and bringing light to a darkened world, if only for a little while.

Bruce thought he was imagining it, but everywhere the Spirit went, he sprinkled his water into the darkest corners of Gotham.

"Spirit, why are you sprinkling that water," Bruce asked. "And why does it change shape?"

"Water is hope. People thirst for hope, and hope is freely given to those who sorely need it," said the Spirit of Christmas Present.

Bruce watched as the Spirit sprinkled water on those with families. He also noticed even though the Spirit sprinkled water in certain areas where the darkness was deepest, the water had little effect.

"Spirit, why doesn't the water work there?"

"For those, it is too late," the Spirit stated. "They have chosen a darker path."

Bruce watched as a woman scantily dressed emerged out of the shadows. She was more a girl than a woman, not more than Tim's age, Bruce observed.

"Want a good time?" the girl enticed him.

A man with a switch blade emerged out of the shadows and the scantily dressed girl quickly left. "Give me your wallet." The man appeared menaced them.

Bruce backed up. They weren't supposed to see him. "Isn't there a policeman around?" But then the man passed through them, going after the a man and a woman huddled in a doorway.

"He was a police officer," the Spirit said. "I thought you said they had nothing to do with you. That woman used to work for you."

"What?" Bruce was surprised at that. "No! Stop this at once!" He demanded, but the man and the woman did not hear him. The woman's companion tried to fight off the man with the knife, but he was stabbed. Bruce tried to throw a fist at the mugger, but his fist went right through the man without harming him. Bruce watched heart sickened as he could do nothing to save the couple. Bruce was forced to turn away when the man with the knife forced himself on the woman, then slit her throat. "Spirit, take me away from here! Spirit!"

Bruce turned to find he was alone. He raced through the darkened streets of Gotham, witnessing several atrocities against innocent citizens that he could do nothing about. The sound of the Gotham Clock Tower could be heard in the distance. It was chiming out the hour. Bruce's heart raced. He needed to get back to the his quarters, back to his warm bed, but his home felt like it was miles away. It might as well be hours or even as much as a day away. Then a shape rose in front of him, dark and menacing. He recognized the shape from when he was a child, a night time horror that had always been in the back of his mind, ever since he fell into that old well.

The shape, no the Spirit stared down at Bruce, its red eyes glowing.

"Are you the Spirit of the Future?" Bruce asked, his voice trembling.

The bat-like Spirit nodded, but did not speak.

"Won't you say something?" Bruce asked, but the figure didn't give out a single peep. The bat-spirit's wings fluttered from a non-existent breeze. Then they enveloped Bruce in their depths, reminding Bruce when he fell and was surrounded by hundreds of startled bats. The darkness didn't last long and Bruce found himself outside a crumbling towering building.

"When did he die?" One man said.

"Last night," another answered.

"He was not that old, even so, do you know what's happened to his money?" A third asked. "This city could get back on its feet with all those billions."

"How should I know," the first answered. 'I just know he didn't leave it to me."

"The funeral is probably going to be cheap since he didn't provide for it."

"I'd go if there was food," the second said.

Bruce couldn't believe those three people. They were so callous, but had he did the same thing when his partner died?

The bat-spirit's wings unfurled, and once again Bruce was enveloped in their embrace. They ended up in a pawn shop. The man that owned the shop looked over some goods.

"Real Sapphire, you say?" The man brought out a glass and examined the gems in the cufflinks. "I'll give you 50 for them."

"They are worth a lot more," the man said, his back to Bruce.

"60, not a penny more," the man added.

"I've got something you might be interested in," a woman came in, her sultry voice got the men's attention.

"And what would that be?"

The woman pulled out the object from her coat. "Perfect natural matching pearls."

"My, my," the man's mouth watered. "I'll give you 200 for them."

"Make it 500 and you have a deal."

Bruce's face blanched when he spotted the pearls. 'They can't be. They must belong to someone else.'

"Oh, and I have this," the woman stated.

"His shirt?" the man was surprised. "I don't sell used clothing."

"That shirt is made of the finest silk. You won't find a hole in it. They would have wasted it. Cotton is good enough for him."

"Wasted it?"

"They would have buried him in it."

"You don't mean you took it off with him lying there?"

"He's not going to need it. It's not like he's going to catch cold."

"Oh Cat, you have such a sense of humor."

Bruce was appalled at the callousness, that strangers would steal from a dead man. Until he got a good look at the man who brought in the cufflinks.

'No, not Alfred,' Bruce said to himself. 'No, it can't be him. Alfred has a cousin that looks like him. Maybe that's who it is.'

Even so, the look-a-like got Bruce thinking. Who was the man they were referring to. It was obvious the man had been well off, much like himself. The Spirit left the shop, which gave Bruce a chance to talk with the bat-spirit.

"I understand, I think. The man they are talking about could be me, but that conversation, such callousness. Is there no one who has any feeling with regards to this man's death?"

The bat-spirit enveloped Bruce in his wings once more, and the strange thing was Bruce began to feel comfortable within the bat-shaped spirit's wings. It reminded him of something long ago, but for now his thoughts were interrupted as they entered another home, a couple that Bruce once had dealings with, but could not be certain. He rarely met his clients face to face and what the couple said shook Bruce further to his core.

"Jarvis, did you go see him? Is he going to relent?"

"I did go see him, Alice, but he's past relenting. He's dead."

Alice stared at her husband then brought his hands to her mouth and smiled. "Do you know what this means?"

"Yes, it means we'll have more time," Jarvis said. "We'll be able to raise the money and whoever takes over our loan we'll be able to pay it off. I can keep my hat factory open."

"I'm so happy, Jarvis. Never before has a death made me so happy."

"Spirit, no that's not what I meant," Bruce lamented. "Please, show me some tenderness connected with a death or those conversations will haunt me forever."

The Spirit wrapped his wings once more around Bruce, letting the shadow fall. Once again they ended up at the Grayson home, a home he remembered was filled with warmth and joy. The house practically radiated with that joy, but this time, the house was quiet and felt cold. There was no joy and on the door was a black wreath.

'Oh no.'

Continues with Part 8


	8. A Death In The Family

**_AU story:_******_**Bruce Wayne is a bitter man, hating the world for the death of parents and the life he didn't choose. Can his old friend Lucius Fox change his heart?**_

A Bat Christmas Carol

With Great Respect For Charles Dickens

By

Part 8: A Death in the Family

*Sniffle*sniffle*sniffle*

"Mom, you're crying again," Gaven stated. "I can do that for you."

It's all right, Gaven," Solona stated. "I can manage. Your father will be coming home soon. I need to get the place straightened up and prepare Christmas dinner."

"I don't feel like celebrating," Haley said. "It's not the same."

"I know sweetie," Solona replied, and she looked toward the stairs that led up to the bedrooms.

"I don't either," Haley said.. "They took everything."

"Not everything," Solona said. "One was enough."

It was then that Dick came in the door. He sat down in a chair and sighed.

"I'm sorry I'm late," Dick said. "I forgot to bring . . ."

"It's all right," Solona said. "We have enough. In fact, Damian Wayne came by earlier to express his condolences. I gave him some tea. He looked so weary."

"You're such a good wife," Dick said. "I spoke to the priest today. He'll be able to do the service for . . . For Timoti."

"When?"

"This afternoon."

"it's Christmas Day," Solona said. "We're burying him on . . . on . . . . I don't know how we're going to come up with the money."

"Here," Dick reached into his pocket. "It's what was owed me before . . . Damian Wayne gave it to me. I met him as I was coming home. I didn't want to take it, but he insisted. Then I told him what happened. If Tim hadn't . . . " Dick buried his face in his hands.

Solona went over and started to pick up the broken pieces of the jar they had used to save money for medicine and surgery for Timoti. She hesitated when she saw the pool of blood on the floor. If only Dick had been here sooner. If only . . . . If only, but that would not bring back the one they lost. She dropped the towel she had been holding over the pool and continued to pick up the broken pieces and handed them to her husband. They represented the fact that they're little family was no longer whole.

"Fratele, meu, fratele meu mai mic," Dick cried in Romani.

A tear slipped down Bruce's face, something he did not expect.

"Oh, Dick. I'm so sorry," Bruce whispered. "The spirit of Christmas present warned me this might happen." But Bruce didn't know it would be due to this.

All the money they had been saving had been taken, taken by a robber that Tim had tried to stop, but couldn't. It was as if his own thoughts had brought it to pass. He felt sick inside, and wished he could take back the words he said earlier.

Before he knew it, Bruce was taken to a cemetery. It was later in the day. He saw the family gathered together on a hill overlooking the Gotham river. A small tombstone marked the small freshly dug grave. Only a name and a date appeared on the stone. It felt wrong on so many levels. The teen should have been laughing and playing with his niece and nephew.

One by one, each family member stepped away, leaving only Dick Grayson behind.

"Lona wants us to return to the circus. We found a way out. I wish, I could take you with me. And I wish I could have buried you next to Mom and Dad, so they could know that I found you. I have to leave you now," Dick stated. "I have to help Lona with the Christmas dinner." Dick pulled from his coat a small Christmas gift. "I was going to give you this. It's not much, but we all chipped in. Oh, Timoti, I miss you so much. You'll always be a hero in our eyes." Dick rose from the gravesite and walked down the hill to his remaining family, leaving the small lonely tombstone behind.

The scene changed again, and they were once again back in the Grayson home.

"Are we really going to live at the circus?"

"I don't want to leave Uncle Tim behind."

"We can't take him with us sweetie," Solona said.

"Gaven, Haley, life and death is something we have no control over. How we live life makes it bearable or unbearable. Your Uncle Tim made that life bearable."

"Why did he have to die?"

"Your Uncle Tim was very sick, and there was a chance he might not have made it. There wasn't enough money for both surgery and medicine. Uncle Tim knew that, but if he didn't put himself between your mother and them, we would be burying your mother. The robbers took only money, which we can replace, but we can never replace your Uncle Timoti, and we will never forget him."

"Spirit," Bruce began. "You showed me what amounts to be almost eager gladness for the death of a man, and deep profound, almost painful sadness at the death of another. I'm confused. Where am I in all this?"

The bat-like spirit moved through the cemetery to an area that was darker, where the tombstones were broken and cracked.

"Why are we going over here?"

The Spirit moved to where there was a newly carved tombstone and a freshly dug grave. He pointed with his wing-like cape.

"You must be mistaken," Bruce stated.

The spirit pointed again.

Bruce crept forward and read the name on the tombstone. "No, no it can't be. Am I the man they were talking about? Please, Spirit don't let me die like this, alone and in the dark. Please, I will change. I will honor Christmas, and help those in need. I'll keep Christmas in my heart all year long. Please, I know I can change. This future cannot be the only path. Please tell me I can wipe away the writing on that stone!"

The Spirit loomed closer, hovering over Bruce, glaring his red eyes, and his mouth opened to reveal sharp teeth. The ground opened up once more as it did when Bruce was a child.

"NO!" Bruce screamed falling once more into the darkness.

Continues with Part 9


	9. A Reawakening

A Bat Christmas Carol

With Great Respect For Charles Dickens

By

Part 9: A Reawakening

Bruce Wayne fell through the open grave. Images of his fall through the old well, him landing hard in a cave, bats surrounding him, invaded his mind. Then it changed to his parents, dead at his feet, with blood pooling on the ground, and then a bat crashing through his window. And finally the boy at the circus, his parents also dead at his feet, and above him a bird and a bat circled overhead. Bruce gave out a huff as he landed in a cave, startling a colony of bats. They surrounded him, but they did not bite him. He slowly rose to his feet and the bats continued to swirl around him. He felt something awaken in him that he had ignored for years, and yet a dread filled him as well.

At some point in his life, he had decided not to pursue, not to go after the man who killed his parents. He had stood silent at their graves, and because he did, a young boy had died, and now he was dead, or was he? He could no longer tell.

"What am I doing down here?"

"You will be living down here, seeing everything that you could have done, seeing everyone you could have saved."

"Then I am dead?"

"As a doorknob," the bat creature said.

"Please, I don't want to die," Bruce pleaded. "Is there no way to change this?"

"Remember, Bruce. Remember. You could have helped them, bring justice to them. Now you are nothing!"

The bat creature grew in stature, looming, swallowing what light was left. Then the bat creature rushed toward Bruce, and suddenly the bat creature changed into a hideous scarecrow-like mask, laughing.

"HHAAAHHHAAAHHHHHAAAAAA"

It enveloped Bruce in its folds."

"NO! . . . I can change! . . . I CAN! . . . LET ME CHANGE!" Bruce raged. He tried to fight through the suffocating material. "No! No!"

"Bruce!"

"NO! NO!"

"Bruce!"

The voice grabbed him by his shoulders and shook him. Bruce's eyes snapped open and he stared at the person who called his name. His eyes went wide and he looked around. The room was different. He wasn't in a deep, dark cave. It was filled with light, and it was snowing outside. He looked around bewildered at first. This was his room, but it wasn't . . . He then realized where he was and he looked into the face of the young man who woke him. He recognized his face. "Dick?"

"Hey, big guy," Dick gave him a smile. "I'm glad to see the antidote finally worked. You gave us quite a scare there."

"Antidote?"

"Yeah," another voice to his left said.

Bruce turned to see it was Tim. This face wasn't a young teen. He was older and even looked like he needed a shave. "Tim?"

"Yeah, it's me."

"You're not dead."

"No. I'm fine. Everyone's been worried about you," Tim said. "Damian and Jason have been working hard to find the antidote to Scarecrow's latest formula."

"Scarecrow's formula?" Bruce questioned.

"The formula that Scarecrow hit you with a few nights ago on patrol," Dick said. "That must have been some hallucination.".

Realization had hit Bruce. He had been on patrol, as Batman, chasing down the Scarecrow and what they thought was his new fear toxin. It turned out it was more than that. "You don't know the half of it," Bruce replied. Bruce tried to rise, and Dick pushed him back down.

"You need a little more rest. We'll take care of things."

"You said everyone?"

"Yeah, after you got hit in the face by Scarecrow's latest formula," Tim said, and he leaned in to give Bruce a hug. "Even Sammie couldn't clear it from your system. We're just glad you're finally awake."

"We thought at first we were going to have to . . .," Dick swallowed hard. "Bury you, today, on Christmas."

"Christmas? It's Christmas Day?"

"Yeah."

"I didn't miss it, and it was all a hallucination. I didn't forsake my vow to my parents."

"Bruce, what are you talking about?"

"Never mind," Bruce said. "It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter at all. It never happened, and you, and Tim, and everyone, they're all here."

"Of course we're here," Tim replied. "How about I have Alfred send you up some Christmas waffles."

"Alfred," Bruce's eyes grew misty eyed. "That sounds wonderful, Tim."

Bruce watched as Tim left the bed and raced out the door. He wasn't using a crutch, and he was alive and well. And Dick was sitting beside him, not living in some run down house, his clothes ragged and filled with patches. He was here, sitting next to him.

"Dick, you know what I want to do?"

"What?"

"Go to Gotham, do some things for Christmas. My mother would go to a soup kitchen and serve Christmas dinner to the homeless. We would take presents to the orphanage that bears her name."

"There's a Martha Wayne Orphanage? Dick asked.

"She helped to build that orphanage. They named it after her. I haven't gone there for years. I want to give my employees extra bonuses, no I want to raise their wages, they deserve it And give Alfred a raise, he deserves so much more. He's family. And build decent housing . . . " Bruce rambled on as to everything he wanted to do.

"Hey take it easy. Are you sure you're up to all that?"

"I'm fine Dick, in fact I never felt better. I've been such a fool over the years."

"I wouldn't say that."

"I have Dick. I never thanked you," Bruce said.

"Thank me, for what?" Dick was confused.

"For saving my life."

"Okay, I guess. What brought this on."

"It doesn't matter. I'm just glad you're here, old chum," Bruce said, as he pulled Dick into a hug.

Dick was shocked at first, but then he let Bruce hug him, and sank into that embrace.

"Uh hum."

Bruce pulled away from Dick when he heard Alfred clear his throat.

"Your waffles Master Bruce," Alfred stated. He carried the tray over toward the window and placed it on the small breakfast table. "I fixed them just the way you like them."

Bruce went over and hugged his oldest and most loyal companion, 'No, he's more than just a companion, he's more than just a butler. He's been my father since my parents died.'

"Oh my," Alfred said, surprised.

"Thanks, Dad," Bruce said, as he whispered in Alfred's ear. "For all you've done. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, my son," Alfred said. "Now, eat your breakfast before it gets cold. There is enough for two."

Bruce gave Alfred a smile then sat down to eat. "Join me, Dick. Just like you used to. Then afterwards we can tell everyone. We'll go do all those things before we open our presents," Bruce said.

"A new Christmas tradition?"

"You could say that. Oh, and Dick, Merry Christmas."

Dick smiled and sat down across from Bruce and they enjoyed their plates of Christmas waffles. Once Dick was done and left Bruce's bedroom, Bruce slowly got up from the small table and went over to the dresser and picked up his parents' picture. "Merry Christmas, Mom and Dad. I've got to get dressed. I'm spending the day with my family. You would love everyone, especially Dick. He reminds me of you, Mom. His parents were murdered, too. He helped me when I needed it the most. I miss both of you so much. And I vow, I will never forsake you, again."

Bruce turned away from the photo and quickly dressed. He heard the sounds of his grandchildren raising downstairs. A boy about six popped his head into his bedroom. It was one of Tim's sons, Caine, the older of the twins.

"Hurry Grandpa, Uncle Dick said you wanted to talk to everyone in the living room."

"I'm coming, Caine."

Bruce's heart felt full, full in the knowledge, that whatever happened after that, his family would always be there. And he had done what he needed to do.

"I don't really know if what I hallucinated was real or not, but if you're out there spirits, thank you."

Then Bruce headed downstairs to spend Christmas Day with his family.

End

_**A/N: Our regular story posting will return next Monday with "Who Is Tanner?" MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!**_


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